


Regrets Only

by Corinna



Category: Glee
Genre: Burt Hummel is the world's best dad, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corinna/pseuds/Corinna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>It wasn’t that Burt was waiting up.</em><br/> <br/>Spoilers through 4x22 ("All or Nothing")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regrets Only

It wasn’t that Burt was waiting up. Kurt was practically a grown man, living on his own in New York City, and he could be trusted to get himself home in one piece after Regionals. Burt had a crazy amount of paperwork and reading to get through before the House was back in session, that was all, and if he did it late at night when Kurt still wasn’t home from the New Directions’ Regionals performance — well, he was working a lot more nights and weekends in general these days, it wasn’t anything special. Still, something inside him loosened and relaxed when he heard the key in the front door. “Kurt?”

“Dad?”

“Back here, buddy.” 

Kurt came through the kitchen door with a little frown. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Just catching up.” Kurt was the only person he wouldn’t grouse to about the workload of Congress, and not just because the kid would be on his case about taking it easy. “Nothing major. I heard you had an exciting evening, though.”

Kurt looked surprised at that, so Burt hurried to explain. “Will and Emma’s wedding. And the kids winning Regionals. Finn told us.”

“Oh. Yes, it was... well, we’re officially a Regionals dynasty now, aren’t we? Rachel is going crazy that she missed it.” Kurt crossed the room to the refrigerator. “Warm milk? It might help you sleep.”

“I’m sleeping fine, Kurt. But OK.” There was something in the way the kid was holding himself — too stiff, too careful — that reminded Burt of bad times he’d thought they were long past. 

They weren’t a lot alike, the two of them, but one way Kurt was completely his son was the way he needed quiet sometimes to figure things out. So Burt pushed aside the stack of memos and just waited, watching him open and close cabinet doors, start the stove, stir. Kurt poured two mugs’ worth of warm milk, topped each one carefully with shakes of nutmeg, and brought them back to the table. They sat there together for a while, the Hummel men, in the quiet of the sleeping house. 

“Dad?” And there was his boy, looking at him like he knew the answers to all the mysteries. Burt couldn’t say he hadn’t missed that. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course you can. What’s up?” 

“It’s...” Kurt sighed and took a sip of milk. When he finished, he tried again. “It’s Blaine.”

Burt’s heart sank. 

“He... he asked me to marry him.”

Burt did his best to look surprised, which truth be told was not that hard. He’d really thought he’d talked the kid down. “What happened?”

“After the party, when everyone was going home, he asked me to come talk to him in the auditorium. So I did.” Kurt wasn’t even looking at Burt as he spoke. “We were up on the stage together, and he gave me this whole little speech, and he got down on one knee and — and he asked me to marry him. He even had a ring.”

There was nothing on Kurt’s left hand. Burt had to ask anyway. “So what did you say?”

Kurt’s eyes were wide and watery as he turned to face him. “I said no. Of course I said no. We’re not even dating! I haven’t done more than hold hands with him the whole time I’ve been back. I’ve moved on. Blaine and me — that’s over. I’m not going to marry him.”

And that was when Kurt burst into tears. Not the everyday tears Burt got used to with a high-strung teenager in the house, but ugly, heaving sobs that had him bent almost in half. Burt was out of his chair and pulling Kurt into a hug before he could even think about it. “It’s OK, buddy,” he said. “It’s OK.”

He held his son, murmuring soothing sounds at him, rocking them back and forth gently like Kurt was a baby. Kurt clutched at him and sobbed and sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said when he finally pulled away.

“Hey. You’ve got nothing to apologize to me for.” He guided Kurt back down into his seat, and pulled his own chair over to Kurt’s side of the kitchen table. “You want to tell me about it?”

Kurt wiped his eyes on his sleeve cuff. “Blaine asked me to marry him.”

“You said.”

“Do you know —” Kurt shook his head, clearly trying not to cry.

Burt put his hand on the boy’s back, soothing, and waited.

“I planned our whole wedding three times before he even noticed me. And when he asked, I said no.”

Burt wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Do you regret it?”

Kurt teared up again. “No. I don’t.”

“Then you did the right thing, Kurt. You did.”

His son nodded slowly, thoughtfully. Burt could tell he wasn’t convinced.

They sat like that together, drinking their now only lukewarm milk. Burt thought back to Blaine’s open, hopeful expression when he’d announced his intentions, how defensive and hurt he’d been when Burt tried to talk some sense into him. “You probably both need some time to figure things out. But even with what happened tonight, it’s not an all or nothing deal. Not if you both don’t want it to be. Talk to him.”

“But I’m going home tomorrow.” Kurt had the grace to look embarrassed by the slip. “I mean, back to New York.”

“I know what you meant. It’s OK.” Burt had seen how Kurt thrived in New York, how he’d delighted in teaching his father the unspoken rules of navigating busy streets like a local. Kurt could call anywhere home, as long as this kitchen table, these late-night conversations, felt like home to him too. “And you’re not throwing out your phone when you get there, right? You can always call.”

“I guess.” The first thing even resembling hope flickered across Kurt’s face. “Do you think we can still be friends?”

Burt thought back to his conversation with Blaine, how lit up the boy had been when he talked about his love for Kurt. “I have faith that you guys will figure it out. This doesn’t have to be the end of the story.”

Kurt visibly relaxed at that thought, leaning back against the tall back of the kitchen chair. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime, kid. That’s what I’m here for.” Exhaustion washed over him like a wave, and he stifled a yawn. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s past my bedtime.”

“It really is. You’re not a young man anymore, you know.”

“I’m pretty sure insulting your congressional representative is a federal offense. Something like that.” Burt stood up, stretched a little, and looked down at his son. So grown up, and still so young. “You know, cousin Lydia, her husband proposed to her three times before she said yes.”

Kurt made a face. “They were dating the whole time. And she wears moccasins.”

Burt just patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t knock ’em till you’ve tried ’em. I hear moccasins are very _on-trend_ for this year.”

“Please don’t try to talk fashion, Dad, you’re creeping me out.” Kurt managed a half-hearted smile: watery and red-eyed, but real.

“That’s the other part of my job as your dad, Kurt. Embarrassing the crap out of you.”

When he got upstairs to his bedroom, he changed and slid into bed as quietly as he could. Carole shifted and muttered next to him, never waking. Burt lay there in the dark room for a while, eyes still open, thinking about his sad, determined son down in the kitchen, trying to understand his own heart. There were a lot of things a father could do for a son, but so many more he had to let Kurt figure out for himself. He wished he could make it easier for Kurt — for both Kurt and Blaine, if he was being honest — but all there was for him to do now was to listen. As he turned onto his side for sleep, he hoped it would be enough.  


End file.
